


the waves

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9805244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They never stay ashore for long, the waves. They go as quickly as they come, leaving only a trail of white in their wake.





	

He found her by the beach, wet sand clinging to the hem of her white chemise as she lay at the edge of the waves. Her pale skin had been icy beneath his fingers and he had feared for the worst. Yet, her eyes had fluttered open when he had lifted her in his arms and he had felt her breath, feather soft, against his shoulder as he had walked back to his cabin.  

She woke just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, bleary eyes taking in her surroundings. Plain walls tinted orange by the fading light, square window that overlooked the garden, and rows of seashells upon the shelves that he had left untouched. When the realization dawned in her eyes, a whimper sounded from her parted lips. Although he could not glimpse her face, buried as it was in her hands, he could tell by her trembling shoulders and muffled sobs that she, too, had lost everything to the sea. Grief, he knew, was best dealt with in solitude so he had stood and left, closing the bedroom door behind him.

 

 

The next morning, she approached him as he sat at the doorstep, his callused hands untangling the nets with practiced ease. Her hand tugged at the dress he had laid out for her the night before, the home-spun cloth hanging loosely from her small frame.

_Thank you._

He shrugged and continued to pull at the woven strands, glancing at her from time to time from the corner of his eye. The sun brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks and the ocean breeze teased at her hair, the silky strands catching in the light. She was beautiful, without a doubt, but it was a gentle kind of beauty that calmed his heart like quiet waves at sunset.

Eyes trained towards the sea, she spoke, her halting words like snatches of dream.  _The sea. It swallows things whole-ships, people-_ _and leaves nothing behind._

The bitterness in her voice compels him to look up from his work at the expanse of blue before them. Today, the sea was deceptively calm, sunlight dancing across its mirror-smooth surface with the grace of fireflies.

 _It doesn't swallow everything,_  he said quietly as he gazed at her.  _Sometimes, things wash ashore._

 

 

The days pass as they had before, the todays no different than the yesterdays. Every morning, he would rise at daybreak and take his wooden boat to sea. When he had rowed far enough that the waters were more navy than cyan, he would lay out his nets and wait, exposed skin burning beneath the morning sun. And when he had caught enough for a meal and more, he would head towards the Village and leave his wooden pails with the fishmonger, hopping on shore for butter or a loaf of bread. By twilight, he would be back at the cabin, 

Sometimes, he would find her sitting by the window, empty eyes staring into the distance. And sometimes, he would find her standing on the doorstep, her dress fluttering in the salty breeze. She never strayed far from the cabin and when she did wander off, it was always in the opposite direction of the sea.

She was lost, trapped in limbo between grief and reality. Yet, he knew it was not his place to show her the way out. It was a path that she had to discover on her own, just as he had done all those years ago.

 

 

 _The seashells, where did you find them?_  she asked, fingertips lightly brushing the ledge of the wooden shelf.

 _I didn't_ , he shrugged  _They were my wife's._

Her next words were a solemn whisper.  _Where is she?_

_At the bottom of the ocean._

 

 

Today, he found her sitting at the table at dawn, quiet determination in her delicate features.

_Can you take me out to sea?_

He shrugged and she trailed after him as he walked across the sand to the wooden fishing boat. Taking a deep breath, she climbed aboard and he pushed off, the waves lapping at his legs before jumping on.

He pumped the oars with slow, steady , careful to guide the boat as smoothly as he could through the waters. Her grip on the edge of her seat gradually loosened as he rowed on. When he brought the boat to a standstill, she leaned over the side of the boat and stared down, scrutinizing the depths.

When she finally pulled a way, she turned to gaze at him, a thoughtful expression upon her face. With a sweep of her arms, she gestured to the endless expanse of blue around them.  _How can you stand seeing the very thing that stole what you loved?_

_The sea takes but it also gives and life goes on._

 

  

With each day that followed, the anguish in her eyes was replaced by a quiet acceptance as she gazed out at the ocean. Her mouth would relax into soft smiles from time to time and he could sense the serenity in her being whenever she sat across from him in the rowboat, fingertips tracing patterns across the waves. Together, they would reel in the nets, throw the fish into the pails before resting beneath the noontime sun with crusts of bread and a pouch of water. 

Finally, the day came when she followed him to the Market. He lost sight of her amongst the crowds and noisy stalls, but found her again outside the merchant's shop with ink and paper in her hands. That evening, he watched as she sat at the table, pen gliding across parchment by the firelight. Though he could not understand the elegant script, he knew that she was leaving. Her time in limbo was drawing to a close and her eyes, once desolate, now held a trace of peace.

They took the boat one final time to the Village but this time, she alone stepped off. A carriage was waiting for her at the docks, ready to take her back to the City and what was left of her family. Before the horses galloped away, she leaned out the narrow window, took his hands in hers and gave them a grateful squeeze.

_Thank you. May we meet again._

It was a bittersweet goodbye; he had grown so used to her presence, had found in her the shadow of the someone special he had lost. Yet, she had her own ship to sail, her own life to live, so he sent her his blessings and rowed home.

 

 

Waves.

They go as quickly as they come, water grazing shore for mere heartbeats before retreating whence they came.

All they leave behind is a memory, a thin trail of white as evidence of their fleeting presence.

They come, they go, and perhaps, they will come again.

 


End file.
